The Burning Bridge- Character Reaction

19

"Here, my lord." Horace handed the book to Arald, who took it, a bit hesitantly, before beginning to read.

TREADING CAREFULLY, WILL AND HORACE MADE THEIR WAY across the narrow plank path that bridged the last fifteen meters of the Fissure. Will, with his excellent head for heights, could have run lightly across it without a problem. But he went slowly out of regard for his bigger, less nimble friend.

Horace shook his head. "That is not an incident I'd like to repeat." Will grinned.

"Why? Can't take a little height?"

"Little?" Horace scoffed. "It was fifteen meters across the Fissure, and the board may as well have cracked with the weight of two people upon it." Will laughed.

When they finally made it to the finished roadway, Horace heaved a sigh of relief. Now they took a moment to examine the structure. It was built with all the thoroughness that Celts were famous for. As a nation, they'd developed the art of tunneling and bridging over the centuries and this was a typical sturdy structure.

"Now, if they'd taken as much note to their surroundings," Arald muttered.

The smell of fresh-sawn pine planking filled the cold night air, and overlaid on that, there was another sweetish, aromatic smell. They looked at each other, puzzled, for a moment. Then Horace recognized it.

"Tar," he said, and they looked around to see that the massive rope cables and support ropes were thick with the stuff. Will touched a hand on one and it came away sticky.

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Wonder what that tar could be useful for."

Will shrugged innocently. "I have no idea."

"I guess it prevents the ropes from fraying and rotting," he said carefully, noticing that the main cables were constructed of three heavy ropes twisted and plaited together, then thickly coated with the tar to protect them. Also, as the tar hardened, it would bind the three together more permanently.

"And it's great for setting bridges on fire," Crowley piped up.

Horace glanced around. "No guards?" he commented. There was a disapproving note in his voice.

Will snorted. "It made our job easier. I'm not complaining." Horace nodded agreement.

"They're either very confident or very careless," Will agreed.

It was full night now and the moon was yet to rise. Will moved toward the eastern bank of the Fissure. Loosening his sword in its scabbard, Horace followed him.

The figure by the tunnel mouth lay as Will had last seen it. There had been no further sign of movement. The two boys approached him carefully now and knelt beside him—for now they could see that it was a Celt miner. His chest rose and fell—barely moving.

Will sighed and shook his head sadly. "I wish there could have been something else we could have done."

Horace shrugged. "We took him in the cave; that's where he wanted to go."

"It would have been better if we could have saved him somehow, and helped him escape," Will muttered.

"He's still alive," Will whispered.

"Only just," Horace replied. He placed his forefinger to the Celt's neck to gauge the pulse there. At the touch, the man's eyes slowly opened and he gazed up at the two of them, uncomprehending.

"Well, then, Horace, be a bit more brighter, will you?" Crowley quipped.

"Who...you?" he managed to croak. Will unslung the water bottle from his shoulder and moistened the man's lips with a little of the liquid. The tongue moved greedily across the wetness and the man croaked again, trying to rise on one elbow.